The Tiger's Fate (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 3)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  She was silent for several moments as she took another sip. Stiger could not help but feel sorry for her and her people. The pain in her voice was palpable.

  “Eli’Far’s people, though of the same blood, are similar to my people . . . yet different,” she continued. “Do not judge your friend too harshly. By not sharing all he knew, he was protecting you, as he works to shield his own people.”

  Stiger considered her words, and both were silent for some time.

  “What if we do destroy the dwarves’ Gate?” Stiger asked. “We could roll the dice and take the risk that it will work out in the end.”

  “I fear,” she took a deep breath, “the punishment for doing so would be far worse than mere slavery and servitude.”

  Stiger was silent, thinking. The more he thought it through, the more he was coming to the conclusion that he had little choice. Stiger had always honored the High Father and the other friendly gods, but he had never been truly devout. He had trusted that as long as he honored them, prayed, and made an occasional offering, they would mind their own business and share the occasional blessing. He had been mistaken. They wanted much more from him.

  “I have no choice,” Stiger admitted, staring down at the drink in his hands. “Is that why you are telling me this?”

  She laughed lightly, and with it the pain seemed to leave her voice. Stiger found her laugh to be attractive. “Have you not been listening? We all have a choice.”

  “With all choices there are consequences then,” Stiger said. “Is that what you are getting at?”

  “My people made a choice, a poor one, and we paid dearly for it. You, I sense, are undecided. You wrestle with your own.”

  “My decision could not only ruin me, but the world and my empire as well,” he said. “If I understand things correctly?”

  Taha’Leeth nodded gravely.

  “This dwarven Oracle prophesized that I am the one to decide whether the World Gate opens or stays shut,” Stiger said. “It is not a choice I care to make.”

  “You are one of several who may make that choice,” she said. “The other alignments have their own champions.”

  Stiger had suspected as much. It was why both Castor and Valloor had made their moves for the Gate. He had already worked out that the other alignments also had to have the ability to open the World Gate. If Stiger was the High Father’s choice and champion, who represented the other factions? Might he have to confront those champions? It was not, Stiger thought sourly, an exciting prospect. “How do I know which one is the correct path?”

  “That is for you do decide,” she said.

  “You are not being helpful.”

  She flashed Stiger an amused smile as he took a pull on his drink. Stiger set the drink down on the table and frowned unhappily.

  “If the gods sentenced your people to slavery,” Stiger said, looking back up at her, “then how is it you were able to throw off that yoke? Won’t your people be punished again?”

  Taha’Leeth did not immediately reply. Her eyes searched his and then studied his face. Stiger was transfixed by her eyes. Like other elven females, they were deep and seductive, but with Taha’Leeth, it was more, something different. Stiger was sure it was not simply the allure of her beauty. Stiger had lived with the elves in their forests to the north. She made the other elven girls he had known seem drab by comparison. Oddly, he felt a connection with her at some primal level. It was not her beauty, of that he was sure. In her eyes, he saw pain and suffering. Was that it?

  “When my people were first punished,” Taha’Leeth began slowly, “we suffered terribly at the hands of humans. I suffered . . . ”

  A solitary tear ran down her cheek. Stiger wanted to reach out and brush it away, offer her some comfort, but could not bring himself to do it.

  “I suffered more than I care to admit,” she said, and steel came into her voice. “I will not bore you with the details, just that I have come to hate your kind with a passion not borne of this world.”

  Stiger did not like the sound of that but did not stir or interrupt her. This was Taha’Leeth’s story to tell and he wanted to hear it.

  “I had a vision many years ago, long before you were born. It was after a terrible time. I had been brought so low I considered taking my own life. Amongst elves, suicide is one of the worst imaginable sins, but I was beyond caring. As I was about to end my life, one of the gods we had abandoned, Tanithe, came to me. In that vision, I saw that one day my people would be freed and that we would be forgiven.” She paused and nearly sobbed. “Yet . . . Tanithe also revealed to me that I alone would have to make another choice for my people to be forgiven. To atone, I would have to sacrifice all that I am and will be.”

  “Why you and you alone?”

  “As punishment for my actions, for it was I who saw to it the World Gate was destroyed. I, who hated humans more than any other, would have to forgive, to choose . . . to . . . choose . . . ” She stopped abruptly and wiped another tear away. “I would have to surrender my feelings of loathing, disgust, and contempt . . . ”

  “Your choice?” Stiger asked, eyes narrowing. “You have already made it?”

  “I have,” Taha’Leeth admitted solemnly, which was followed by a near sob, before she recovered herself.

  “Your people coming north,” Stiger realized with sudden surprise. “Your people are now free again as they once were.”

  “It is more than that. Don’t you see?” she said in a voice that was almost pleading. “Tanithe showed me the one in my vision who would help me choose a new path for my people. He showed me you.”

  “Me?” Stiger asked in alarm, leaning back in his chair. Now the gods were showing visions of him to others. Could this get any worse?

  “Eli had told me much about you, but I did not believe. At first I thought I could control you, twist you to my will.”

  “The glamour?”

  “Yes, and I was wrong to try. So, I gave in to what I was shown. I surrendered not only myself, but my soul. I have committed myself and my people to the High Father’s cause.”

  Stiger frowned. “Will he accept you back?”

  She tilted her head and looked at him in a curious, almost amused manner.

  “What makes you think we were ever originally with the High Father?” she asked, finishing her drink and looking at him. Stiger was stunned by her admission. No wonder Eli’s people had not joined the Compact and stood apart.

  Taha’Leeth stood, pushing back her chair, and stepped around the table to him. Stiger felt his heart quicken at her nearness. She looked down upon him in a contemplative manner.

  “Such passion bound up in such a short lifespan,” she said, a hand caressing the side of his face. Stiger almost pushed her hand away, but the touch was like fire upon his skin. His heart beat even faster. Elven women had always had such an effect upon him, but not as much as Taha’Leeth was having now. She traced his scarred cheek with her index finger.

  “Despite your gruff exterior, you are a good man, Ben Stiger.” Leaning down, her lips brushed his cheek. “Though you do not fully understand yet, I have made my choice, and for that I thank you. In return, I have given you a great gift that I desperately fear one day both of us may regret.”

  Taha’Leeth straightened, looked down upon him for a moment. Then she turned away and left for her room.

  Stiger suddenly felt very tired and more than a little frustrated. He could still feel the spot where her lips had brushed his cheek. What gift? he wondered. Elves were incredibly frustrating. Why could they never come right out and say what they meant?

  Stiger finished his drink, stood, and retired to his room with the hopes of getting some sleep. Thinking on what she had just told him, he had his doubts that sleep would come easy.

  “Why can’t things ever be simple?” Stiger asked his empty room as he prepared to bed down for
the night.

  Seven

  Stiger’s eyes snapped open. It took him a moment to remember where he was. Light seeped into the room from underneath the tapestry hanging over the doorway. He could hear booted feet out in the hallway, and they were coming nearer. He rubbed at his eyes and then remembered that boots were to be left at the door. Something had happened.

  Stiger sat up as the tapestry was pulled aside and light flooded into the small room. Shielding his eyes, Stiger saw Garran holding a lantern and looking apologetic. A legionary was behind him, one of Lan’s troopers, judging by the long cavalry sword dangling from his side. The dwarf said something that appeared to be an apology as Stiger climbed to his feet. The trooper braced to attention at the sight of the legate.

  “What is it?” Stiger demanded. He knew that being disturbed in this way boded ill. He wondered how long he had been asleep. It was difficult to tell time under the mountain, though Stiger felt somewhat rested. He must have managed several hours at least, which was good.

  “Sorry, sir,” the legionary said, stepping around Garran and entering the room. He handed a dispatch to Stiger and then stepped back. “From Lieutenant Lan, sir.”

  “I see. Garran, can you light my lantern?” Stiger asked and gestured toward the extinguished lantern. Garran lit it from his own lantern. He turned up Stiger’s lantern so that shortly there was plenty of light to see by in the room. Garran bowed respectfully and then retreated. Stiger held the lantern up as he read the dispatch and then looked up.

  “Did you see the fires?” Stiger asked the trooper.

  “No, sir. The lieutenant went with a dwarf to see them. He then returned and wrote the dispatch. The lieutenant said to tell you that some of the fires looked quite large.”

  Stiger did not want to hear that. It meant a village or two, perhaps even a town, had been raided. This was the last thing he needed, especially now when he was away from his command.

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Sometime before dawn, sir.”

  Stiger cursed and began gathering his things. He should have been out there, where he could do some good, not here under the mountain in a dead city.

  “The lieutenant ordered that the troop be made ready. He said to tell you he will be prepared to ride when you arrive, sir.”

  “Very good,” Stiger said. “Go wake the others. They are in the rooms adjacent to this one.”

  “Yes, sir.” The trooper left.

  Stiger started to dress. As he was beginning to don his armor, Eli appeared.

  “What is wrong?” Eli asked.

  “A raid is underway in the valley. It appears the Cyphan got over the mountains,” Stiger growled, pangs of anger from last night’s argument resurfacing. He took a deep breath and let it out as he tightened the straps and tied them securely, looking away. “We are leaving.”

  Eli nodded and disappeared, letting the tapestry fall back into place.

  Less than ten minutes later, Stiger strode into the common room, saddlebag in hand, sword hilt in the other. He found the trooper waiting with a dwarven warrior from the Hammer Fisted Clan. The dwarf eyed Stiger curiously as he approached. Garran and Tema stood off to one side. The others were not in the common room as of yet, but Stiger could hear them getting ready.

  “What is your name?” Stiger asked the trooper.

  “Legionary Talcus, sir.”

  “Report to Lieutenant Lan that we will be on our way shortly.”

  “Yes, sir.” Talcus turned to his escort and gestured back toward the passageway. The dwarf nodded his understanding, and in moments both had gone. Stiger was about to ask Garran to find Braddock when the thane arrived with Garrack, who appeared extremely tired. Both wore only their tunics. They looked as if they had just been woken from a sound sleep.

  “I heard about the fires,” Braddock said first, with a grave look. “It cannot be more than a handful at most. The mountains are difficult to cross, especially at this time of year.”

  “I agree,” Stiger said, thinking of the forbidding peaks that hemmed in the valley and of the recent heavy snows that should have made them nearly impassable. “I intend to deal with them and make sure they never come back.”

  “Good,” Braddock replied.

  Something occurred to Stiger. “Do you suppose they may have found a way into the valley through the tunnels and mines?”

  Braddock looked over to Garrack, who shook his head firmly.

  “We patrol mines and tunnels around Grata’Kor well,” Garrack said. “We have word first if enemy in mines.”

  “Garrack is right,” Braddock said. “No one is better underground than a dwarf. They would not have been able to evade our patrols. The Cyphan had to have come over the mountains to access the valley.”

  Stiger nodded, hoping they were right. If they were wrong . . .

  Eli and Taha’Leeth emerged, along with Aver’Mons. Father Thomas arrived a moment later with Sergeant Arnold on his heels. Both were dressed and alert.

  “Garrack will take you out of the mountain,” Braddock said with a solemn look. “We will feast and break bread together another time.”

  “I would like that,” Stiger said and found that he meant it. He was beginning to like the gruff thane.

  “We have business here with Hrove,” Braddock continued. “As soon as it is concluded, I will return to the army, likely by nightfall. Once this mess is settled, we will begin planning our offensive, together.”

  “I look forward to it,” Stiger said, eager to be on his way but pleased that Braddock had emphasized the word “together.”

  “It is good you saw the World Gate,” Braddock said, after a slight hesitation. “Now you know what we fight for.”

  “Yes,” Stiger said, catching a look from Taha’Leeth. He frowned, thinking on their conversation the night before, then nodded to Braddock. “We fight to protect not only our people, but this world. I understand.”

  Braddock offered Stiger his hand.

  “I will see you soon.” Braddock stepped back.

  Stiger glanced around at those gathered and ready. He was about to turn to leave when he realized someone was missing.

  “Where is Marcus?” Stiger asked of Eli, who, in surprise, looked to Aver’Mons. They exchanged a few words in elven before the other elf pointed at Garrack.

  “Ah . . . about that,” Garrack said with an uncomfortable cough. “He’s not in best shape, but will recover. He join us where horses are, though he may need be carried and lashed to his mount. I have already seen to it.”

  Stiger thought he could detect the strong air of ale about Garrack and frowned. Braddock shot a hard look at Garrack, who simply shrugged.

  “It seemed like thing to do,” Garrack said apologetically. “Pissing on dragon is not done every day. He needed drink.”

  “Right then,” Stiger growled and turned to the others. “Let’s go.”

  Crossing the drawbridge from Grata’Jalor, Stiger could see his cavalry assembled and ready. The men were holding their horses by the reins, waiting for the order to mount up. Stiger was surprised to see a large number of dwarven warriors, all from the Hammer Fisted Clan, watching them. There were perhaps as many as two hundred dwarves, all armed and in armor.

  “Sir,” Lan greeted as Stiger and the others joined them. “Dispatch rider just arrived for you.”

  Vargus was speaking heatedly to a cavalry trooper, who was holding the reins of his horse. Foam and sweat dripped from his horse’s mouth, rump, and sides. He had clearly pushed his horse hard, which in the dark suggested that the raid was perhaps more serious than Stiger had thought. Moving quickly on horseback in the dark was dangerous. Stiger ground his teeth in frustration. He pushed his way through the horses and men toward the dispatch rider, who, seeing the legate, turned with a relieved look as he braced to attention. Vargus scowled slightly w
hen he saw Stiger.

  “About time,” Stiger thought he heard the centurion mutter under his breath. Stiger let it pass.

  “Dispatch, sir, from Lieutenant Ikely.” The trooper handed over the dispatch he had been holding, shooting Vargus a wary look as he did so. It was apparent the trooper had been unwilling to surrender the dispatch to the centurion.

  Breaking the seal, Stiger scanned the contents. Several farms and villages had been attacked at the southern end of the valley around sunset. From the height of the castle walls, the burning buildings could clearly be observed. Ikely had dispatched Second Cohort, which had been out on a training march. He had also dispatched a troop of cavalry for a reconnaissance and placed Third Cohort on alert, prepared to march at short notice. Though the fires looked bad, Ikely speculated that a small force of rebels had made it over the mountains and was causing limited damage, burning whatever they could.

  “You are from Lieutenant Cannol’s company?” Stiger asked the dispatch rider.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good job. Get your horse watered. Then walk her back to the castle. I don’t think the lieutenant will be pleased if your mount comes up lame.” The horse looked too blown for any further riding.

  “Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” With a wary glance over at the centurion, the trooper turned away and led his horse over toward a trough of water near the stables.

  Stiger handed the dispatch to Vargus to read and sought out Lan. No matter how the people of the valley had greeted him on his way out to Thane’s Mountain, he understood that their trust still had to be earned. If he did not handle this right, the people would begin to question his competence. If that happened, he would lose respect of the valley cohorts too. Then he would be in serious trouble.

  “Where’s my horse?”

  “Sergeant Mills has it over there, sir.” Lan pointed.

  “Have the men mount up,” Stiger ordered.

  “Mount!” Lan shouted. Armor and bridles jingled as the men of the troop pulled themselves up onto their horses.